


The Fight

by orphan_account



Series: Sitter!verse [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:32:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1142059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Gwaine,” Arthur says exasperatedly. “Merlin and I just don’t fight. It’s never happened. I can’t even think of any reason we would fight, anyway.”</p><p>Morgana sneers, “It’ll happen.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Fight

“What’s wrong with your sister?” Merlin asks one night in lieu of a greeting. He toes his moccasins off and slings his bag on the couch so it hits Arthur in the shoulder.

“What do you mean?” Arthur replies, setting his laptop down on the coffee table.

Merlin raises an eyebrow as he stares at him from across the room. “You haven’t spoken to her? That’s weird. You’re _always_ talking to each other.”

“I wouldn’t say _always_ -”

“Always,” Merlin clarifies, bending over the back of the couch to kiss Arthur on the cheek. “I don’t mind it. I think it’s cute. Speaking of things that are cute-”

“Merlin,” Arthur holds a hand up and Merlin stops talking.

“Arthur,” he smiles back and waits patiently for him to continue.

Arthur rolls his eyes. He then grabs Merlin’s bag and gets up off the couch, walking across the room to where Merlin’s standing. Merlin’s just staring at him, eyes all blue and sparkly from where the fluorescent lights of the hallway shine through the doorway to the living room.

“What’s wrong with Morgana?” Arthur asks and walks into the kitchen. Merlin follows.

“I’m not sure, that’s why I asked you.”

Arthur sets Merlin’s bag on one of the barstools where he always puts it and leans back against the counter to face the dark-haired man who’s now biting at his thumbnail. Arthur thinks. He doesn’t know of any reason Morgana would be upset. He’d spoken to her on the phone earlier and she had been a bit short, but Arthur just thought it was because she was at work and he was interrupting, like that’s ever stopped him before.

“Well, what did she say to you?”

“It wasn’t what she said to me, it’s what she didn’t say to Leon. Whenever I’m about to leave they’re always in the living area or kitchen bickering playfully or whatever married people do,” Arthur laughs and Merlin continues, “but today was different. The whole flat just felt...icy.”

Arthur furrows his brow and repeats, “Icy.”

Merlin nods.

“Strange,” Arthur replies and hooks his index finger through the side belt loop of Merlin’s jeans. He tugs and Merlin comes easily, nudging into Arthur’s hip with his own.

“Not as strange as you.”

“As you,”

“As _you_ ,” Merlin insists, and then leans in to kiss Arthur full on the mouth.

____

 

Morgana stirs her tea so fiercely that some of it spills out of the mug and onto the white tablecloth of the café table. Arthur sputters as she merely raises an eyebrow at the tea as if it has disobeyed her and continues.

“Morgana, did something happen?”

“What are you talking about,” she states rather than questions, finally setting her spoon back on the table. She looks up at him, red lips in a thin line and eyes narrowed.

“You’re obviously upset.”

“I am not.”

“Oh, please,” Arthur replies.

Morgana sighs at him. “It’s Leon. He’s being a brat.”

“About what?”

“He wants black drapes in the living room, I want white. The white would allow the light from the balcony to come in much more easily and the black will just shut it out. What’s the point of having the glass doors to the balcony if we’re just going to shut out all the light? Why don’t we just live in a cave?”

“ _Drapes_?” Arthur asks incredulously. “You’re fighting about _drapes_?”

“I’m an interior designer,” she says back, like that validates anything.

“Still, Morgana, that’s really all you’re upset about?”

Morgana nods and stares at him, chin up, like she dares him to say anything more about it. Arthur doesn’t. Instead, he picks up his coffee and sips at it. A small child at the next table cries out and startles them both, and Morgana laughs when Arthur spills on his slacks. She doesn’t stop until he’s used every flimsy napkin on the table to mop it up out of his lap, sour expression on his face the entire time.

“Why do they even bother giving us napkins if they’re this thin? It’s basically like using air,” Arthur growls, and Morgana laughs at him again.

“Thank you, little brother, I needed that,” she says with a hand on his arm, as if he’d purposefully spilled on himself for her benefit.

He didn’t, but he probably would’ve if she’d asked.

____

“It’s not just the color of the drapes that’s bothering me, it’s...the way he _argued_ with me about it. Like the whole world revolves around him, like he should get every little thing he wants.”

“What’re we talking about?” Gwaine asks as he slides up to the bar in front of them.

“Leon,” Morgana says, rolling her eyes at the mere mention of her husband’s name. “He wants black drapes, I want white. Get me a martini.”

Gwaine shoots Arthur a look when Morgana turns away and Arthur grins, nodding at him for a drink too. Gwaine pours them and sighs as he sets the glasses out in front of them.

“Men are such bitches,” he agrees, and Morgana nods and nods.

When she puts her glass back on the counter, a minuscule bit of her red lipstick can be seen on the rim under the multicolored bar lighting. Arthur only notices because he’s so bored of the entire discussion and tunes her out as she gushes about it to Gwaine. He would’ve stayed home, but Merlin had gone to his weekly night class and Arthur didn’t feel like sitting around alone; at least with nothing good on TV.

“I’m probably just stressed,” Morgana says finally, and Arthur tunes back into the conversation. She brings her hands out in front of her and clenches her fingers like she’s trying to squish a fruit. “You know when you just get in fights with them over everything and anything?”

Gwaine says, “Absolutely,” at the same time Arthur says, “No,” and they both turn to look at him, eyebrows pulled together like he’s just started speaking Japanese.

“What?” he asks immediately, eyes flitting between the two of them.

“You and Merlin don’t fight?”

Arthur sips at his drink and shrugs his shoulders.

“Come on,” Morgana rolls her eyes and hits Gwaine in the arm with the back of her hand like Arthur’s holding out on them. “There’s got to be something.”

Arthur thinks for a minute but nothing comes to mind. “I can’t think of anything.”

Morgana eyes him. “You’re telling us that Merlin and you have never fought?”

“That can’t be right. I mean, Merlin’s pretty feisty, there’s no way the two of you have never fought about something. Anything,” Gwaine prompts.

“I mean, I’m sure we’ve shouted at each other a few times,” Arthur lies, “but we’ve never been cold to each other at length. Nothing like this dispute you’ve got going with Leon.”

Morgana rolls her eyes for the fifth time and reaches across the bar to grab onto Gwaine’s sleeve. “Gwaine,” she deadpans, “get me a bucket, I think I’m going to be sick. This much bullshit is making me nauseous.”

“I’m serious!” Arthur claims loudly over Gwaine’s laughing. “I mean, what is there for us to fight about?”

“There’s got to be something about him that gets on your nerves. After almost half a year of living together, you’re bound to notice something irritating.”

“Something he does, something he says,” Gwaine supplies, elbow on the bar and chin in his hand, and really, doesn’t he have other patrons to be tending to? Arthur scans the bar surreptitiously and Gwaine continues, “Something he wears. Oh, like those little brown shoes with the weird laces.”

“Moccasins,” Morgana helps.

“I like his moccasins,” Arthur frowns.

“-those tight jeans he’s always wearing,”

Gwaine smirks and looks at her, “No, _everyone_ likes those. I can bet that Arthur does especially. Shows off his cute little-”

“Gwaine,” Arthur says exasperatedly. “Merlin and I just don’t fight. It’s never happened. I can’t even think of any reason we _would_ fight, anyway.”

Morgana sneers, “It’ll happen.”

Arthur shrugs, a grin creeping onto his face.

“I don’t know. Merlin’s just...perfect.”

“Oh, gross,” his sister and Gwaine say at the same time.

They both turn, amazed, and high-five each other while Arthur rolls his eyes at them.

_____

“Leon,” Merlin chirps as he walks into the kitchen.

Leon looks up from where he’s sitting at the counter, papers organized in nine different piles in front of him on top of the shiny white marble. Merlin turns on the sink and starts rinsing out the bowl he’d brought in that previously had Mordred’s macaroni in it.

“Merlin,” Leon grumbles tiredly.

Merlin turns to him, still scrubbing cheese from the side of the bowl. His eyes are a bit red and his hair is even more disheveled than normal, though one wouldn’t be able to tell if they didn’t see Leon on a near-daily basis. Merlin raises an eyebrow.

“Are you alright? You look a bit…” Leon stares while he waits for Merlin to finish, “…tired.”

Merlin knows this has got to do with Morgana’s iciness as of late. An unpleasant mood had been settled in the flat for the last couple of days and Merlin had to be blind and dumb not to notice. Even Mordred was tiptoeing around his parents where he’d usually be grabbing onto their pant legs and regaling them about his day at school, blue eyes shimmering brightly. When Leon sighs at him, Merlin frowns.

“It’s this whole thing with Morgana,” Leon confides, rubbing his eyes with both hands exhaustedly. “I’m sorry it’s been a bit odd around here lately. I’m sure we’ll recover soon.”

“I’m sure you will,” Merlin grins at him.

Leon nods slightly and turns back to his paperwork, picking up his pen again.

“Leon,” Merlin says again. Leon looks up expectantly and Merlin asks, “Drapes? Really?”

Leon huffs out a breath and almost looks like he wants to smile but can’t bring himself to. Merlin sets the blue plastic bowl on the drying rack and walks to stand on the other side of the counter opposite him, sorting through the fruit basket to find any rotten ones he can throw out.

“I know,” he laughs a bit but it sounds strained. “But Merlin, you know how she can get. She thinks she’s the queen of everything.”

“Isn’t she?” Merlin quips with a furrowed brow, making Leon laugh genuinely.

“She’s designed this entire place. It’d be nice to have one thing I wanted in here; one thing I can look at and say, ‘this was my decision that I was able to make and execute here in my own flat’.”

“So it’s not really about the drapes,” Merlin concludes as he throws a bruised apple into the trash and pushes the basket back out onto the middle of the counter once again. Leon shrugs at him and Merlin doesn’t make him go on.

“We’ve just been stepping on each other’s toes lately, you know how it goes. I’m sure with a bloke like Arthur this sort of thing happens all the time.”

“Er, sure.”

“That’s not very convincing.”

“I dunno.” It’s Merlin’s turn to shrug. “We don’t really row.”

“You’re joking. You and Arthur don’t fight. _Arthur_.”

“Why’s that so hard to believe?”

Leon puts his hands up, “I’ve heard quite a few stories from Arthur over the years about his quarrels with the people he’s been with in the past. You know he loves to argue.”

Merlin does know that much, of course; the two of them argue all the time, but it’s never with any malicious intent. If anything, Merlin thinks, it’s more banter than anything else. Just thinking about it makes Merlin grin sheepishly down at the counter.

“God,” Leon groans, “what is _with_ you two and the hearts-in-your-eyes looks?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

Leon rolls his eyes. “Seriously, Merlin. You two have really never had it out?”

Merlin shakes his head but his grin won’t disappear.

“Arthur’s, like…perfect.”

Leon groans and picks up his pen again, shooing Merlin out of the kitchen.

___

 

Arthur’s stationed at his desk working on the dreaded McAle file when he hears Merlin enter the house. The only light on is the small desk lamp to Arthur’s right so Merlin makes his way to the study, takeaway bag in hand.

“Baby,” he says when Arthur doesn’t look up from his papers.

“I got takeaway,” he tries when Arthur still doesn’t move.

“Food,” he says again.

Arthur finally looks up at him and grins weakly. “Sorry. This fucking file is running me into the ground,” he admits, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

“Long day?” Merlin asks, eyes big and sympathetic.

“Fucking terrible.”

Merlin sets the bag of food on the floor next to the desk and sits down on the old sofa on the other wall of the room and wordlessly looks at the spot next to him. Sure enough, Arthur gets up from his chair in favor of the sofa and immediately lies down on it, sighing and rubbing his eyes again. He groans out of frustration and Merlin pats at his thigh.

“I bet I can make you feel better,” he says slowly.

Arthur raises up on his elbows and barks out a laugh.

“What!” Merlin exclaims. “I was _trying_ to be sexy.”

“That was nearly straight out of a porno.”

“Been watching a lot of porn lately, have we?”

“God, no. I haven’t watched porn since I was like, your age.”

“ _My_ age,” Merlin says again. “You make yourself sound so old.”

“I am so old.”

“You’re so not.”

Arthur covers his face with the arm that’s not hanging over the side of the couch and grumbles, “I _feel_ so old.”

“No, you just feel mature. You _are_ mature.”

“You’re going to have to get me a cane soon,” Arthur tells Merlin.

“And a monocle.”

“Yes,” Arthur agrees.

“People will think I’m only with you for your money.”

“Aren’t you?”

Merlin sighs. “So you figured it out, then.”

“Sure did, Emrys. But seriously. There’s...Wait, how old am I again?”

“Twenty-eight,”

“We can fit Mordred’s entire lifetime in our age gap.”

“Mordred’s seven, not six. You don’t even know how old your own nephew is?”

Arthur scoffs, but it’s muffled by the fabric of his sleeve. “Of course I do. I was only checking to see if you did.”

“Lies.”

“I’m an old man, Merlin, remember? You can’t expect me to remember everything.”

“You’re such a loser.”

“You’re the bigger loser.”

“I brought you over to the sofa to try and seduce you and now you’re calling me a loser. And you called me not sexy.”

“I was lying about that.”

“About which part?”

“Both parts.”

“I love you, you idiot.”

“I love you more.”

____

 

“Arthur,” Morgana practically beams when she opens her door for him. He raises an eyebrow and strolls in slowly, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Morgana,” he says in turn and then looks at her expectantly. “You seem...cheerful.”

“I am,” she says and spins around on her heel. “Wine?”

“Please. Is Merlin almost finished?”

“He should be on his way back now from taking Mordred to swimming practice.”

“Wonderful,” Arthur smiles and takes the glass Morgana offers to him. He then makes his way down to the new white leather loveseat in the living room and sits down. It’s definitely not as comfortable as his favorite chair (that now resides in his house, and Arthur is grateful for that especially after he and Merlin had perfected their performance in it) but it’s alright, and Arthur likes that he can see the spectacular view of the city out of the sliding glass door to the balcony when he sits there.

Leon then walks into the flat, immediately throwing his keys in the bowl and beaming at Arthur when he greets him. Arthur expects frost to start developing on the windows when he and Morgana make eye contact, but no such thing happens. In fact, Morgana practically runs to him (well, as fast as she can in her heels) and he picks her up and swings her around before setting her back down and pressing their foreheads together. Arthur looks on, eyebrows raised to his hairline.

“Sweetheart,” he smiles and she kisses him quick on the lips before retreating to her chair adjacent to Arthur. Leon makes his way back into the library and Arthur turns to Morgana as soon as he’s out of earshot.

“What the hell?”

Morgana crosses her legs and shrugs a shoulder. “We made up.”

“I can see that. When?”

“Last night.”

“You finally talked it out, then?”

Morgana clicks her tongue. “Something like that.”

Arthur furrows his brow. She then smirks and Arthur is ninety percent sure he’s not going to like what’s coming next.

“You could say we…banged it out.”

“Oh, my god!” Arthur shakes his head, trying to dislodge the information.

“Some might say there was… _tongue-lashing_ involved,” she continues, smirking.

“Please stop,” he begs.

“Oh, what? You can tell me all about you and Merlin’s escapades and I can’t say a word about mine?”

And okay, that might be true. Arthur was a bit less than discrete about he and Merlin’s…bedroom activities, but that was Merlin’s fault. He was so _vocal_ and _enthusiastic_ and Arthur had to tell _someone_. And who knows what Gwaine would do with that kind of information?

“Yeah, but you’re my sister. And Leon’s my friend.”

Morgana scoffs, “You’re my brother. And Merlin’s my friend.”

“It’s different.”

“It’s so not.”

Arthur’s reminding himself to buy bleach for his brain on the way back home later when Morgana speaks up again, her voice low.

“Arthur, seriously, it was amazing.You are missing out.”

“Missing out?” Arthur asks, taking a sip from his wine glass.

Morgana nods. “If you and Merlin never have fights, you never have angry sex.” Her voice drops even lower and she stares somewhere over Arthur’s shoulder, calculating. “That raw passion, scratching your nails down their back and wrestling for who gets to be on top, channeling all your crossness towards them into your hips and b-”

Arthur puts his hand up in front of her face and she cuts off.

“Please, I don’t need any more details than you’ve already given me.”

“I’m telling you, little brother,” she prods his arm with a sharp black fingernail. “You’ve got to do it.”

“It’s not like I’ve never had angry sex, Morgana.”   
“Then you know damn well it’s different with every person. And if Merlin really is as good as you seem to believe he is, then you must be missing out big time.”

Morgana stands up then and collects his now empty glass, bringing it to the kitchen. He stares down at his knees and ponders it, and oh yeah, that would pretty much be the greatest thing ever. He can’t think about it too much without having to awkwardly excuse himself out of his sister’s flat though, so he cuts off his train of thought early and instead wonders if he could even get Merlin angry with him in the first place. Not like he’s ever tried exactly, but the idea doesn’t exactly appeal to him, even with sex as the endgoal. Arthur’s not even sure if it’s possible.

“I don’t even think it’s possible,” he tells his sister.

“What?” Morgana yells back from the kitchen.

“Getting him angry with me,”

“You can’t possibly believe that,” she laughs wickedly as she walks back into the room. “You’re a prat. I’m sure he’ll get sick of you eventually.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “That’s reassuring, thanks.”

She pats his knee. “Don’t worry, your time will come. And hopefully so will you.”

He hears Leon laugh brightly from the other room.

___

Arthur walks into the house (promptly tripping over a pair of moccasins) to see Merlin’s bag in the middle of the floor and his crumpled jacket abandoned in the hallway. He sighs and nudges the shoes out of the way with his foot, hanging his own jacket on the hook next to where Merlin’s should be.

“Pratdragon?” he hears Merlin yell from somewhere deeper into the house.

“Would it kill you to hang your jacket up?” Arthur asks back immediately.

“Maybe!”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “I’m serious, Merlin.”

Merlin chooses that moment to show himself, stepping into the corridor with just a towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist. His hipbones create shadows on his lower stomach due to the bright light shining from the bathroom into the darker hallway and Arthur can faintly see a drop of water sliding down his pale skin. He subconsciously licks his lips and Merlin cackles.

“What were you saying?”

Arthur has to think for a second before remembering.

“Your jacket.”

“Right,” Merlin says and drops the towel before bending down to pick the electric blue jacket up off the floor. Arthur’s mouth goes dry. He watches the muscles in Merlin’s stomach move as he walks _stark naked_ down the hall and across the room to where Arthur’s standing, the towel in one hand and his jacket in the other. He deliberately takes awhile putting it on the hook next to Arthur’s; he smooths his hands down the sides and slowly untucks a sleeve from where it has bunched up. It’s amazing, really; all that skin right in front of him and yet Arthur can only focus on his hands and long, white fingers as they work out a few of the more stubborn wrinkles. When he’s finished, he turns to Arthur and leans in close so that Arthur can just barely feel the ghost of Merlin’s lips over his.

“Sorry,” Merlin breathes against them. Arthur whimpers when Merlin then pulls quickly away, wrapping the towel back around his waist in one movement and skipping off to the bedroom.

“Pricktease,” Arthur grumbles, half-hard in his jeans, and brings Merlin’s school bag to it’s rightful place on the kitchen chair before seeking him out.

___

 

“I think we need a puppy.”

Arthur looks up from his laptop to see Merlin standing over him.

“What?”

“A puppy. I think we should get one.”

“Merlin, please.”

“Come on, you like puppies.”

Arthur starts to reply something snarky but Merlin interjects.

“Don’t give me that ‘I don’t _like_ animals, _Mer_ -lin’ spiel because we both know that you like dogs. I’ve seen you fawn over them enough at the park and the pet store and when we’re in the elevator in Morgana’s building with that old woman and her beagle-“

“Grace.”

“Right, Grace. I know you love that beagle.”

“Well, can you blame me?”

“No, and that’s my point.”

“Merlin, please,” Arthur says again.

“I thought you loved me.”

Arthur looks shocked. “Who told you?”

“You’re a prat.”

Arthur grins and turns back to his laptop, picking up where he left off on typing a document for work. Honestly, Arthur’s surprised that Merlin hasn’t brought this subject up earlier. Arthur was sure Merlin would be asking for pets on his third day living here with Arthur at the latest. Truth is, he’s already planning on getting Merlin a puppy for his birthday in about two months. He hasn’t even told Mordred for fear of him spoiling the surprise. Arthur already has a puppy in mind, actually; a tiny multi-colored miniature schnauzer from a shelter down the highway. He’d visited it with Morgana a few times already, making sure it’s the right one for Merlin and oh man, is it ever. Merlin loves puppies, yes, but Merlin also loves surprises. So Arthur intends on keeping his mouth shut for now. He looks up again when he still feels Merlin staring at him from over on the couch.

“What?”

Merlin shrugs his shoulders. “You’re just handsome.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Emrys.”

Merlin’s face is the equivalent of a toddler’s after told they can’t have another juice box. Arthur rolls his eyes and continues to type.

“Why can’t we get one?” he whines.

Arthur answers without looking up from his laptop, “This house is enough of a mess with you living here now, I don’t need a dog running around and throwing things everywhere as well.”

Merlin squints. “You’re still mad about my jacket on the floor yesterday.”

Arthur looks at him incredulously. “It’s not just yesterday, Merlin, it’s every day. And it’s not just your jacket; it’s your shoes and your bag and your toothbrush that I found on the front walk one day, how does that even happen? Oh, and your jeans that you leave by the bedroom door like they’re a damn welcome mat.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not crazy anal-retentive like you and organize my shirts and trousers by color.” Arthur rolls his eyes again and Merlin scoffs. Then he says, softer, “I didn’t know it bothered you so much.”

“Well, it does,” Arthur confesses, standing up when Merlin does and putting his hands on his hips to mirror him. “It’d be great if you could be more mindful of how neat I like my house-“

Merlin retorts, “Oh, so it’s _your_ house, is it?” and Arthur winces. “I thought it was our house.”

“It is our house, Merlin, of course it is,” Arthur backtracks. “I just wish you’d-“ he searches for the words but can’t find any but the ones that are already spilling spitefully out of his mouth. “Just because you’re still in uni doesn’t mean you can treat it like a dormitory!”

Merlin’s hands fall from his hips and he looks at Arthur dejectedly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“…Nothing.” Arthur honestly doesn’t know why he said that, but looking at Merlin’s face, he knows he should take it back and apologize profusely. But his stubbornness wins out, as it mostly does. He keeps Merlin’s stare.

“Is that some crack about our ‘age difference’?“ Merlin uses air quotes, and Arthur would probably laugh if they both weren’t so pissed off. “I don’t get it, I really don’t,” Merlin says, mouth twisted down in a frown and eyebrows knitted together. “You think you’re so much more mature than me, Arthur, don’t you? Just because you’re a few years older? This conversation right here is telling me you’re not.”

Merlin then walks quickly past where Arthur’s standing and disappears down the hallway, but Arthur doesn’t hear a door slam. Instead, he hears a zipper and dresser drawers being opened. He’s surprised he can hear anything over the pounding of his heart. He hasn’t moved from his spot, standing in front of his chair when Merlin comes rushing back down the hallway, one of his big black travel bags in tow.

Arthur internally begs his voice not to shake when he inquires, “What’re you doing?”

“I’m going to Gwaine’s, you can have _your_ house to yourself for the night.”

He walks to the door and opens it, only turning back to Arthur to ask, “Think you’re mature enough to handle that?” before slamming it shut with him on the other side.

Arthur moves back, sits down slowly in his chair and trembles.

___

When there’s a knock on the door of the house about an hour later, Arthur flings himself out off the couch and swings it open. To his disappointment, it’s only Morgana.

“Oh,” Arthur says quietly. “It’s you.”

Morgana looks offended. “Nice to see you too, little brother.”

“No, no,” Arthur shakes his head. “I thought you were Merlin. He left after we had a fight.”

Morgana walks through the doorway and past him, into the kitchen. She takes a bottle of Merlin’s orange juice from the fridge and twists it open before turning around to face him.

“You what?”

“Had a fight,” Arthur repeats, hating how cliché it sounds.

He still can’t believe it. He’s weighed down heavy with guilt and has dialed Merlin several times since he left but has always hung up before the first ring even sounds. He didn’t _mean_ to snap like that, it just happened. He blames Morgana and Gwaine for putting the idea of quarreling into his head in the first place. But if he was honest with himself, it’s his own fault. But he’s still too angry to venture down the road of self-pity. It’ll kick in eventually, like when he’s getting into bed tonight with no one wrapping around him like a bloody octopus. Arthur groans out loud when he thinks about that and Morgana puts her hand on his shoulder and pats it a few times.

“It didn’t quite end the way you’d hoped, did it?”

“How do you mean?”

Morgana rolls her eyes. “Admit it. You thought you’d get some… _rough loving_.”

“Morgana,” Arthur groans again. “I didn’t yell at him on purpose. At least I don’t think I did.”

“How does that work?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur rubs at his eyes. “Maybe on a subconscious level I wanted to…”

“Get him mad and then have sex with him.”

“That was absolutely not what I was going for.”

Morgana shrugs wordlessly and takes a swig of her juice before sprawling out on Arthur’s couch and crossing her legs at the ankles. Arthur sits cross-legged on the carpet by her side and puts his head in his hands.

“Hey,” his sister says soothingly, “It’ll be alright.”

Arthur sighs, “I know it will. Maybe I should go to Gwaine’s.”

“Is that where he went?”

“Yeah.”

“Better to let him alone for a while. He’ll come around.”

“He said he was staying there tonight.”

Morgana looks surprised and reaches past Arthur to pick the remote up off the coffee table he’s leaning against. She clicks the television on and coos at the lion cubs on the screen before turning back to him.

“Wow, you must have really pissed him off. What the hell did you say to him?”

“I may have…scolded him not very nicely about how he always leaves his things out and around. And I think I called him immature. And now he thinks I have a problem with the fact that he’s younger than me.”

“Well, do you?”

Arthur plucks a minuscule piece of lint off Morgana’s shoulder and watches it fall to the floor, thinking. On the television behind him, the lion cubs swat at one another with their giant paws and Morgana _aww_ ’s.

When he replies, “No,” she looks back to him and waits for more. Arthur sighs for the thirtieth time in the last ten minutes. “I don’t have a problem with it.”

“But?”

“He _is_ a lot younger than me. He’s still in uni.”

“Tell me more things I already know,” Morgana deadpans.

“I don’t have a problem with it,” he repeats. “Maybe I’m a little thrown by it because I’m so far past that point in my life.”

“So?”

“So…” Arthur runs his hands through his hair frustratedly. “So I feel like Merlin should want to be with someone who is still-“

“Stop there,” Morgana demands, shoving her hand in his face. “Why are you talking like you’re some old crone who has to wear dentures and drag an oxygen tank everywhere you go? Arthur, you’re twenty-eight for christ’s sake.”

“I know that.”

Morgana sits up on the couch right in front of him and mutes the television off in one swift motion, leaning forward to speak to him seriously. “Let me tell you something. Most twenty-eight year olds don’t have their life as put-together as you do.”

“You did when you were my age.”

Morgana rolls her eyes, “It’s how we were raised. We grew up way too fucking fast, little brother. You probably wouldn’t have all this if father hadn’t been the way he was.” She throws her arms around, gesturing to the entirety of the house. “And if you hadn’t taken over his company a few years ago, you’d probably be in some shitty flat wearing sweatpants and hand-feeding your nine sick cats.”

“I never wear sweatpants. And I detest cats.”

Morgana rolls her eyes with so much force that Arthur almost flinches.

“I just mean that you’re perhaps more mature and farther along in life than anyone your age should ever be. And Merlin _loves_ you for it. Don’t give him a hard time because you are mentally sixty years old and have to have all your things in their exact places every second of the day. That’s your own thing. He’s not neat, and that’s just something you’ll have to deal with. Like I have to deal with Leon using more hair products than I do. It’s just something I live with. Because I love him. And you love Merlin.“

“I do,” Arthur interjects, and his voice sounds far away. “More than anything.”

“Okay then,” Morgana smiles, showing all her white teeth. “Feel better now?”

“My boyfriend is still pissed at me and staying at our mate’s house tonight,” Arthur groans.

“Well, at least you’ve got an awesome sister.”

“At least.”

She beams and leans back on the couch again, grabbing the remote.

“Now shut up, I’m trying to watch this guy feed these baby lions.”

___

 

Arthur lies in bed alone and watches the red numbers of the digital clock switch from 11:59 to 12:00. He flips over for the umpteenth time since he has lied down, fidgeting to get comfortable. When he finds that he can’t (surprise, surprise), he sits up and groans loudly just because there’s no one there to wake up. Not like Merlin would mind if Arthur _had_ woken him up.

The first week after Merlin moved in, Arthur didn’t think he’d ever get used to having to share his bed every night. And especially when Merlin insists on sleeping the way he does; crammed right up against either Arthur’s chest or his back, depending on how they’re laying, with his arms and legs curling around Arthur as if the bed was the ocean and he was the only floatation device available within a fifty mile radius. But now, alone save for a couple pillows, he yearns for Merlin’s long fingers sliding around the curve of his hip and to feel the tip of Merlin’s nose softly against his collarbone. The bed feels entirely too empty and wow, Arthur feels sort of pathetic. He can’t even sleep without Merlin for one night. He wonders if, curled up on Gwaine’s couch, Merlin’s missing him (his favorite floatation device) too.

When the clock shows 12:39, there’s a vicious rapping on Arthur’s front door. And he had just gotten somewhere near sleep. He throws the sheets off him exaggeratedly and mumbles something about forgetful sisters. As he walks past the couch Morgana had been on, he scans it for anything of hers but sees nothing. Immediately, Arthur swoops to the front door’s peephole and peers through it.

It’s Merlin.

Arthur’s beside himself. He feels almost like a puppy whose master’s just arrived home after a long, lonely day of chasing his tail. He unlocks the door and swings it open. Merlin’s standing on the front porch with his hands on his hips, looking like he’d just eaten something sour. Arthur grins at him habitually and Merlin raises his eyebrows as he looks at Arthur’s naked chest. Arthur didn’t even realize he was shirtless, but he figures it’ll only make Merlin forgive him sooner. Arthur speaks his name and Merlin’s eyes snap up to meet his stare.

“I spoke to Gwaine,” Merlin says almost conversationally.

“…Right?”

“You’re _such_ a prat.”

“I’m not following,” Arthur responds with a furrowed brow, except it comes out more as “Mmmmfffmmnn,” because Merlin’s tongue is in his mouth and he’s hearing the front door slam behind him.

Merlin pushes at Arthur’s chest as his lips move on top of his, tongue expertly examining. Soon Arthur feels the arm of the couch behind his knees and Merlin wastes no time shoving him harshly back onto it and crawling between Arthur’s legs. Merlin’s humming low into Arthur’s mouth, his knee prodding his groin and making Arthur break their kiss to sigh. He brings his hands up from Merlin’s sides to cup his face.

“I’m sorry I’m such a prick,” he says, struggling to look genuinely sympathetic when he’s this turned on. “You’re, _ah_ , you’re perfect for me. You’re perfect in general.” Arthur thinks his apology would probably be more intricate if Merlin would just quit moving his knee for _one second_ -

“Stop apologizing,” Merlin commands, and the low and authoritative tone coupled with his quick, ragged breaths makes Arthur’s eyes gloss over and his heart beat funny. He shoves a bit at Merlin’s chest.

“Seriously, Merlin, I’m-“

“I said shut _up_ ,” Merlin narrows his eyes. “I’m trying to have angry sex with you, and I can’t do that if I’m not still angry with you.”

“Oh,” Arthur says dumbly.

“Yeah, _oh_ ,” Merlin repeats, but it comes out as a high-pitched moan because Arthur’s leaning up to kiss and lick his favorite spot on Merlin’s neck. Merlin turns his head away, allowing Arthur more room, and his hands wander all over Arthur’s upper body like he can’t control them. Merlin opens his legs wider for balance and Arthur whines into Merlin’s skin, his groin now left alone. Merlin remedies that fairly quickly by reaching between them to palm Arthur through his briefs. He moans automatically when Arthur does, grinning satisfactorily despite himself. The heat they’ve created seems to charge the air around them and Arthur looks up at Merlin with hungry, half-lidded eyes.

Merlin slides his palm slowly down Arthur’s clothed length and Arthur arches into the touch, breathing rapidly. He finally moves his hands from Merlin’s face and slides them down his back, clutching at Merlin’s ass. Arthur watches Merlin’s pink lips as a short, happy sounds fall out of them, and, _yeah_ , Arthur has to have them right now. He captures them quickly and kisses him deep and slow, the way he knows Merlin likes best, and Merlin is nothing if not eager. But when Arthur retracts his hands a bit onto his lower back in an attempt to get them under the tight denim of Merlin’s jeans, Merlin sits up completely. And when this makes both of them moan because of the accidental and unexpected groin-on-groin contact, Merlin moves down a bit.

“What?” Arthur asks a bit frantically, leaning up on his elbows and breathing hard into the now substantial space between them. “Merlin?”

“I’m being too generous,” Merlin deduces and climbs off of Arthur completely. He glares at Arthur with his eyebrows knitted together and throws his hands out to his sides, “Why’d you have to _apologize_?”

“I take it back,” Arthur says, playing along. Merlin squints at him. Arthur continues, “You really are a nightmare to clean up after. Messiest bloke I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re a crazy-OCD arsehole.”

“Better to be too neat than too fucking messy,”

“Shut up,” Merlin growls, hands balling into fists at his sides.

“ _You_ shut up,” Arthur declares as he stands up directly in front of him. They glare at each other for a beat. Merlin glances down at Arthur’s bulge and then back up to his eyes and smirks.

“Make me.”

Another beat, and then Arthur’s rushing forward and lifting Merlin so the dark-haired man can wrap his legs around his waist and bring their clothed cocks ungracefully but deliciously together. They grin into each other’s mouths at the contact and Merlin slides his arms around Arthur’s neck, pulling himself in tighter to get deeper into Arthur’s warm mouth. The sounds their lips make as they kiss are obscene to say the least, but it’s nothing compared to what Merlin’s doing; alternating between high-pitched whines and low, broken moans first around Arthur’s tongue, then into the golden skin of his neck and then around his collarbone. He has to retract when Arthur’s pulling his shirt up and over Merlin’s head, leaving his dark hair disheveled. Finally he gets it all the way off and tosses it to the side.

“Now who’s making a mess?” Merlin teases.

Arthur walks them clumsily to the living room wall and shoves Merlin’s back against it. When the sound of one of the hanging picture frames rattling is audible over their breathing, Arthur pulls back to see if that was too much. And apparently it wasn’t because the look Merlin’s giving him could honestly make Arthur come in his pants right now; his pupils are blown wide, only a thin rim of shimmering blue visible around them. His eyebrows are pulled together as he stares down at Arthur, almost challengingly, a wicked grin cemented on his perfect mouth that’s been kissed red and shiny. He presses their naked chests together, holding Merlin back on the wall as he runs his hands up and down Merlin’s sides.

“Yeah, yeah, _Arthur_ ,” he’s growling desperately.

Arthur’s brain goes fuzzy at that, too turned on to focus about much else than his love’s hot skin under his fingertips and his voice low and demanding in his ear, murmuring filthy things Arthur doesn’t think he’ll ever forget.

That night, Merlin rides him fast and hard and moans louder than Arthur’s ever heard him with each arch of his hips off of the mattress (this, of course, is after they’ve fucked against the living room wall, too eager to take the time to go to the bedroom). Arthur’s surprisingly and uncharacteristically vocal as well and Merlin _can’t get enough of it_ , shouting affirmations every time Arthur groans his name. Merlin’s fingernails run hard over his chest and stomach. They leave thin pink lines in their wake on Arthur’s smooth, glistening skin. Arthur keeps his palms flat on Merlin’s pale thighs as they work and move and thrust together, lifting his hands occasionally to bring Merlin’s mouth down to his own and claim it roughly. He sucks and bites and Merlin refuses to submit; he presses his hands down on Arthur’s shoulders, pinning him, white fingertips digging into tanned skin.

Merlin only pulls back when they need to breathe. His breath is hitching in the way that it does when he’s about to come, and Arthur cups the dark-haired man’s face in his hands as he slows their pace. Merlin kisses deep and slow into Arthur’s mouth and Arthur loves how he can feel his jaw moving under his own trembling hands.

Merlin whimpers Arthur’s name into his mouth as he comes and that’s all Arthur needs to let go himself; both of them riding out their orgasms pressed right up against each other. Arthur can feel their hearts beat in sync. Bump, bump, bump.

“Fuck you, that was… Wow. That _was_ ,” Merlin pants from where he’s now lying next to him.

Arthur waits for him to continue but he doesn’t. They’re still lying so close that their sides touch and Arthur’s grateful; he doesn’t want even an inch between himself and Merlin (he never has). He knows Merlin feels the same and reaches over to push Merlin’s dark, damp hair back off his forehead. Merlin turns to look at him and absolutely beams.

“We should get angry with each other more often,” he says, and then curls up against Arthur’s side and promptly falls asleep. Arthur laughs.


End file.
